


you'll find it if you follow me.

by prophesyr



Category: Far Cry 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-28 03:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18202610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prophesyr/pseuds/prophesyr
Summary: '   know the difference between want and need, between extension and crutch. this is a line we cannot blur. for when we do, there is no turning back.   '—sermon, the project at eden's gate.





	you'll find it if you follow me.

**Author's Note:**

> Posted originally on prophesyr @ tumblr for the Hope County Gothic 2018 event.

_**Seventy-eight miles.**_  
  
          A distance far too vast for Joseph’s mind to easily grasp.  
  
          Beneath the three crosses, he stood in silent study. Truly, his newest Faith had **OUTDONE** the others. Already, she and the Bliss could be considered all but one. Now, she stood proudly before the start of the path, which she lay out for the Father.     ‘   Are you **sure** this is what you want?   ‘     There was no real hesitance in her voice—only the expectation that he may have second thoughts of his own.  
  
          ‘   I have to _**know**_ ,   ‘     he murmured in response, and allowed himself to be led into the first cabin.  
  
          There, she **shaved** him, save for his brows. He was granted food and made himself swear that he would only accept more when offered. His feet would remain as bare as his head. Should he need a weapon, the cross of Eden’s Gate would keep him safe. This was left behind. If the path took his life, then he had always been **_wrong_**.  
  
          Trumpets scattered the room, filling it with enough of their own perfume to drop a fine haze in his yellowed vision. On the table at its end, she readied a **mask** for him. Woven of a silk made of the plant’s stems and soaked in its purest extracts, its effects would not relent soon or with ease.     ‘   Have you tried my Bliss, Father?   ‘     she asked as she turned it in her hands.     ‘   I mean, _**REALLY**_ tried it?   ‘  
  
          He relaxed in the plastic seat, his head tilted back as he prepared himself for what may come.     ‘   No. I’ve never been anywhere but my **_right mind_**.   ‘  
  
          That pulled a stifled chuckle from her. Not much, just enough to know that Faith had taken her place behind the Father.     ‘   **Don’t be afraid.**   ‘     Though he wanted to tell her that she could never _**scare**_ him, the mask pulled tight over his mouth and nose before he could form the words.  
  
          A slow burn coated his throat, inching downward until it found his chest. Every limb felt **weightless** , though each felt more impossible than the next to lift from where he sat. Colors faded and popped ;  the slightest sounds _**roared**_ like a grizzly trying to claw out from inside his head.  He could hear everything. Birds, planes, the river. He could hear the hum of a busy road   **m i l e s** away, and more than anything, he could hear his own thoughts.  
  
          Should the **VOICE** speak now, Joseph would devour every word.  
  
          Something touched both shoulders, and he almost swore it made him jump. No, he didn’t move. But she moved him. Faith helped the Father to his feet, and she took both hands in hers. His vision   **w a r p e d** , pulsing in rhythm to his own beating heart. No longer did setting have any meaning. He could no more place where he stood than he could remember his own name, let alone why his mind kept repeating, _**seventy-eight miles**_. And never had she looked more angelic.  
  
          Faith brought him outside and stood him at the first stone.     ‘   Follow the pedals. Read the stones,   ‘     she instructed in a voice he could _**TASTE**_ —like cinnamon and honey.     ‘   Walk the path.   ‘  
  
          Whether he stood there longer than he thought or she truly was a ghost, in what felt like seconds, **Faith was gone**.  
  
          The first stone, he relived. It boomed with the same noise it had so many times before. He felt the sting of Old Mad Seed’s belt, heard the cries of his baby brother, held the hand of a stranger who knew him by name, and saw the coming Collapse. It rushed in and pushed his bare feet toward the path, down the winding mountainside, and across the footbridge.  
  
          At the edge of the wood, he found himself offering his own flesh to John once more. His brother paced anxiously,   **e x c i t e d l y** , hands itching to purify someone who was not himself. Though he doubtless felt blasphemy on his lips, his hands curled readily around the tattoo gun he once imagined would always be nothing more than a hobby.     ‘   Confess to me your sins, Joseph, so you may **ATONE**.   ‘  
  
          And Joseph found himself reclined in the _**Throne of Mercy**_ , eyes locked to the fourth beattitude as he recited yet again,     ‘   As far as the East is from the West, so far does he **remove** our transgressions from us.     ‘     We have much to cover. His mind echoes the words into the endless cavern of his subconscious. Wrath, pride… **LUST**. They are your only worldly possessions.     ‘   Where should I begin?   ‘  
  
          His hands brushed against fields of Bliss, his wide, white eyes cast toward the Northern mountains. At his side walked wildlife of all **_dangers_** , each as placid as the last, and he found his message reaching the ears of a buffalo. They gathered at his heels, repeating the words of the third stone—  
__  
Joseph Seed’s message reaches the ears of his first true followers. They soon, Seed’s message reaches, soon begin to call him, message reaches the ears, Joseph Seed’s, true followers. They soon, him their Father because of his great, Joseph Seed’s message, his great wisdom and guidance.  
__  
Civilization always felt just out of reach. At no time near enough to soil the wild overgrowth. Campers and hikers kept him fed, **hesitant** though they seemed even through his stupor to come in contact with anyone in his state. Not yet had they known Bliss nor was a shaven version of the Father a _**familiar face**_ , but they knew a mouth in need when they saw it. He hoped beyond hope that they would see the days of **REBIRTH** , come the end of Collapse.  
  
          Revelation found him on the fourth stone. Purpose, it stated. He had been given purpose, and he screamed the word from within a _**burning Toyota**_ on I-275.     ‘   Purpose?   ‘     he cried to the woman who had dialed for help. And to the men who pulled him and his limp wife from the wreckage, he **screamed** ,     ‘   This is purpose?   ‘     Paramedics strapped him to a gurney atop a mountain in Montana, woodland creatures gathered to watch the show, and he reeled in the people’s grasp,     ‘   **WHAT KIND OF PURPOSE IS THIS?**   ‘  
  
          Across foothills, over ridges, through rocky passageways. Only when he stood center of the Father’s Cross, painted across the gravel road, did he understand that his feet were bleeding.  
  
_**Joseph Seed collects his blood family**_ —The Father almost laughed when he saw her name. Is that what they were now? He and Faith, blood. But he could feel her coursing through his **veins**. She sat at his side before his own altar. The shrine rose in billows of Bliss and fell among the seats of a small amphitheater. It beckoned him to   **w a d e** in the waters at its basin, to dive into the depths of what the Project at Eden’s Gate could truly be.  
  
          He accepted that promise in the words of a Priestess. Whether it be her teachings or how her face warped into that of Faith’s, he hadn’t the will to decipher. Of course, a sister, she had to be.  
  
          The trees took on names and faces, each belonging to one of his own **children**. They bowed at his heels and asked him to stay a while longer. Collapse was not necessary ;  all that mattered was what they built   **h e r e** below the Heavens. Joseph pushed forward, and harder still, they begged him to turn back.     ‘   _**SNAKE!**_   ‘     half warned in the voice of the sixth stone, each splintered and ready for battle.  
  
          ‘   The Voice **guides** ,   ‘    the faithful growth whispered back with the seventh.  
  
          Jacob stood across a new bridge, one which took a lifetime to cross. With every step, Joseph revisited a story the elder told. With every mile, he saw a different   _ **l i f e**_ his own brother ended. Breathing came labored and **WEAK** , and when he reached the end, Jacob smiled.     ‘   You’re not looking so strong, Father.   ‘  
  
          In all directions, the forest’s protests grew louder and louder. At the bottom of a great cliff stood a nameless tree, flowers and the   **c o r p s e s** of his family hung from its branches. In _**horror**_ , he watched as their eyes opened. John’s grin matched Jacob’s, and Faith’s John's.  
  
          The Baptist hissed,     ‘   Just say **yes**.   ‘  
  
          The Soldier _**commanded**_ ,     ‘   Cull the weak.   ‘  
  
          And the Siren bade,     ‘   **WALK THE PATH**   ‘  
  
          Rats guided him away, toward the suffocating embrace of the woods and the open mountain air at its edge. The Henbane hushed his sobs, and for the first time since he set out on his journey, the Father felt   **c l e a r**. The region lay out before him like a map of some fantastical realm, and the river herself gave her promise. Have faith, and all will be okay.  
  
          The eighth stone came with a message. His hands would save this place, these **people** from Collapse. And he wanted to believe, with everything in him, that it was true. It had to be, or all for which he worked, everyone who **SUFFERED** by the hands of the Project in one way or another… But in the distance, he saw it. His own concrete likeness standing miles in the distance, and the river below lulled him again into **_serenity_**.  
  
          Among the **bones** of those who fell before him in this region, he understood the certainty of death. He saw the meaning of Collapse, and to weigh one against the other was a spark compared to the aftermath of a _**wildfire**_. That was the reason for the Bliss, the ninth stone argued, and a bird chirped overhead its agreement.  
  
          But again, that tree stood in his way.     ‘   A white horse.   ‘     The **dread** wafted around him in a green mist. In its foreboding, it housed the silhouettes of Conquest, War, Famine, and **Death**. The hooves of the steeds thumped the ground, stomping furiously in the presence of the Father. Their riders stayed silent, masked by badges and titles. Over them loomed the great hanging tree, its branches now _**empty**_. And Death lowered its scythe to Joseph.  
  
**ALL THAT YOU LOVE WILL COME TO AN END.  
** **_  
_**This was its promise.  
  
          Bees swarmed inside his head, and he heard his own voice demanding obedience from all which could hear,     ‘   **BEGIN THE REAPING!**   ‘     They pillaged and plundered. If it could be confined within their grasp, his family held it high for all to see. They became a disease on this earth, and he was the one who spread it. But as diseases do, his had a _**cure**_. One by one, his Heralds fell, and in their place rose the tree once more, now ablaze with the light of the truth of the twelfth stone.  
  
_The Seals are opened and fire cleanses the Earth. In the Gates our Family waits._  
__  
He walked until his body ached. He crawled until his palms bled. He climbed until his breath ran short, and upon the pages of his own book, he wept before the eyes of the Father. Was he worthy? Could a man such as he be allowed **sanctuary** within the Garden?  
  
          ‘   Together, we will march through _**Eden’s Gate**_ ,   ‘     the Father said, the marble of his mouth cracking as he spoke.  
  
          Joseph pulled himself to his feet. **As the Father wills it, so it shall be**. Both arms raised to his side, palms facing whatever Almighty may be looking down upon his unworthy presence. One foot behind the other, toe-to-heel, he backed to the edge of the Word.     ‘   Of course,   ‘     he **_surrendered_** , dropping the mask to the ground below. His heel found the page’s end, and his eyes raised to meet the Father’s.     ‘   **ALL** that I am.   ‘  
  
          In his **clarity** , there was no thought, no mistrust, no dithering.  
  
          This was all that it could be— **A LEAP OF FAITH**.


End file.
